


the devil’s nest

by foulassin



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: And not in the sexy way but raoul thinks it is so it doesn't matter ig, Blood and Violence, Canon Era, Chapter 1 is rated T, Cheating, Choking, Dominant Raoul, Dubious Consent, Erik is a Stalker, Erik is a creep, Exhibitionism, Fix-It of Sorts, Hate Sex, Jealousy, M/M, Manipulation, Masturbation, Misogyny, Nasty Raoul, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Reluctant Voyeur, Rivalry, Slut Shaming, Somnophilia, Teratophilia, Voyeurism, based on leroux’s scene where erik pays raoul a visit in his room, but i mean is that news to anyone, he's just really awful in this which i guess is pretty faithful to leroux's raoul, somewhat canon compliant, submissive Erik, then it just gets nasty afterwards :D
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:41:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25402519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foulassin/pseuds/foulassin
Summary: raoul will aim for his pitiful heart—if the monster even had any—and make him bleed without wasting as much as a bullet.
Relationships: Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé, Raoul de Chagny/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 67
Kudos: 71





	1. the nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really just can’t stop thinking about chapter 14 (where erik visits raoul in his room) of leroux’s novel.
> 
> anyways, leroux was a coward, and i have come forth to spread the gospel about what REALLY happened...👀

For the past evenings, Raoul had taken notice of two stars emerging in the darkness. He thought nothing much of it when he first encountered them by his balcony door, dismissing them as only the eyes of a troublesome stray cat, or just a trick of light. He eventually laid his head back on his pillow and went back to sleep with the drapes left wide open.

Upon discovery that it had not gone away the following night, he immediately lit a candle and learned that they vanished with just the faintest source of light. Heart pounding in his ears, he began to search his room—under the bed, inside his wardrobe, behind the curtains—in order to finally put his mind at ease. He hoped that his suspicion of another soul turning his room into its own kind of nest would be proven wrong.

He ended up empty-handed, but he remained restless. Hastily, he strode to his room's french window and drew the curtains. He then ran back to his bed, quickly hid himself under the blankets and shut his eyes. 

Raoul left the candle burning.

Though he had muttered his prayers under his breath before falling asleep, he still woke up in the middle of the night drenched in cold sweat, the blanket already discarded on the floor. A shiver ran down his spine as the golden orbs now appeared by the foot of his bed, motionless.

Raoul wiped the sweat off his forehead, gaze never leaving the shadow. It was not blinking, he realized with a gulp. It stared at him with so much resentment that Raoul wished his revolver was under the pillow, just within reach, in case that _thing_ became aggressive.

It wanted him dead just by how much animosity filled those eyes, yet he still found himself able to wake the next morning unscathed. What he found quite bewildering was the fact that he was careless enough to fall asleep despite knowing that a demon of some sort was hiding underneath his bed.

He supposed that was when the nightmares slowly began to frequent him, the faceless silhouette always playing a part in his bad dreams. It never moved from its usual position whenever a nightmare roused him from his sleep, yet it was still disturbing nonetheless.

It had chosen to spare his life for countless nights. Regardless, he knew it was foolish of him to wait until it striked before taking the necessary measures to kill whatever was lurking in his bedroom.

What did it want from him and what was it waiting for?

Perhaps it was simply his mind playing tricks on him caused by some sort of fatigue. Maybe he had simply gone mad!

He had told Philippe about it over the course of dinner. He had only laughed at him, thinking it was his younger brother being his usual paranoid self. Raoul was, after all, still faint-of-heart despite putting up a brave front.

Moments later, his expression became serious, and insisted that Raoul should stay away from that Daaé girl before her tales of ghosts completely got to his head.

The meal ended with an argument between the two, with Raoul slamming his bedroom door shut and sobbing into his hands in anger. Oh, to be taken for a fool by his own brother—the person who he trusted and confided in the most!

Too exhausted from the tears he had shed, Raoul had not noticed the pair of eyes watching him from the shadows as he changed into his nightshirt, the rest of his clothes forgotten on the floor.

He went to bed upset.

* * *

One evening, Christine had brought him to the rooftop of Palais Garnier. She looked as pale as when she made her debut that evening on stage—blood completely drained from her face. It was as if she had seen a ghost, and indeed she claimed it to be so.

She paced back and forth with a disturbed expression painted on her face, narrating the horrifying encounter she had with the man they both knew as Erik.

She eventually fell into his arms mid-sentence and wept. Raoul ran his fingers through her hair, and began to think that perhaps Philippe was right about Christine’s talk of nonsense influencing his better judgement.

They were no longer children yet she still expected him to believe the dark stories of the north, such as those what her father had told them long ago.

She buried her face in his chest, his dress shirt soaked with her tears. Even though he considered everything she told him as nothing but rubbish, something in her story had piqued his interest.

“....and then he wept after I took off his mask. There were tears coming out of those black sockets!”

“You took off his mask? And what, pray tell, was underneath it?”

“Yes, and I regret being so curious! He looked at me with those smouldering, yellow eyes which one can only catch a glimpse of in the dark...” she trailed off and shuddered at the memory only she could picture. “It was the face of death who cried at my feet and yet he was breathing. He was alive, Raoul!”

So it was him—the very man who not only corrupted his Christine, but who also had the gall to stalk him. His blood ran cold as he realized that he might have been observing him from his balcony longer than he had known. This man had probably witnessed him undressing as well—the audacity of that perverted scum!

“Not for long—I must kill him! I will kill him! For God’s sake, he shall die by my hands!”

Christine sniffed and looked up at him with pleading eyes. “No, Raoul. Listen to me—”

“You will spare his life no matter his wrongdoings? His crimes?” Raoul exclaimed in disbelief. “Why, you love him! You refuse to admit it, yet it thrills you to be loved by a man who lives in an underground palace!”

Christine pulled herself away from him and kept her distance. “How can you say that when it is to you who I am betrothed to?”

“Then let us leave tonight, Christine.”

“No, I can’t,” Christine refused. “I must sing for him tomorrow night for one last time, or else it will kill him.”

“Good. He’s better off dead.”

“He loves me, Raoul!” Christine strode to his side once more, eyes wide with fear. “Too much that he would commit any crime to prove it.”

He pulled her in an embrace and kissed the crown of her head, with the young woman finally sighing against him.

Regardless of the horrific details of what this charlatan had done to his fiancé, a smirk played on his lips.

 _Christine, you're much too naïve,_ he thought bitterly.

She was stupid enough to believe that this disfigured man was someone who loved her deeply when he had spent his evenings lurking in another man’s bedroom—the bedroom of the man she was soon to be wed to. Heaven knows for what twisted reason.

“But it is you who I love. I realized it once Mme Valerius told me that the voi—Erik—was jealous of you.” Christine looked up at him, cradled his face in both of her hands, and met his gaze with all the sincerity she could muster.

He placed his hands on top of hers and gave her a smile, not because of her profession of love, but because of the absurdity of what she said afterwards.

Erik was jealous of him?

He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers, yet his mind was somewhere else. 

Silly girl.

 _Perhaps he was jealous of you, Little Lotte_.

And he would prove it.

* * *

  
He hummed to himself on the way back home, tapping his foot impatiently on the carriage floor. He had so much to do with so little time. He must arrange for their departure—their carriage, money, luggage, and the route they would take—tomorrow at midnight and finally whisk the soprano away from that humbug.

But for tonight, he had other plans in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmm...i wonder what raoul is up to...thoughts? 😳


	2. blood, sweat, and tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he will set christine free from the clutches of that devil, once and for all.
> 
> he will put him back in his cage.
> 
> he will be the hero in this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, well, well... 
> 
> here we go again, folks. 😳🤚🏽
> 
> i guess this chapter would be rated M. 🤔

Raoul barely touched his food when he had dinner with Philippe. He was thankful that his brother did not question his lack of appetite. Perhaps he had assumed that he had finally come to his senses and listened to him about putting an end to his relationship with Christine.

He still had to inform his brother that he was already engaged and was intent on marrying the soprano. He thought it better to tell him tomorrow morning that he intended to leave Paris with her. Still, he knew that no matter how long he prolonged the news, Philippe would not take well to his announcement—not when it would bring nothing but scandal to the family name.

For the meantime, he had other important matters to attend to so he quickly made his way to his bedroom, closed the door behind him, and let out a sigh as he leaned back on it.

His right hand smoothed the front of his dress shirt in an attempt to ease the pounding against his chest. Thinking about his encounter with that hell-spawned demon in a few moments made his head whirl—in fear or excitement, he was not certain. Perhaps both.

To say that he was not at all frightened by this man whom his fiancé referred to as Erik was absurd. He was aware of his crimes, and was even unfortunate enough to witness one of his victims being carried on a stretcher by workmen at Palais Garnier. He dared not form a mental picture of what the man looked like under the white sheet. He couldn't care less about who he was, but the possibility of landing on the same fate made him sick to his stomach.

He shook his head and composed himself. He knew Erik would not harm him, not if he truly loved Christine. Her loved ones were untouchable—Raoul included. It may be the reason as to why Erik had not dared lay a finger on him for the past evenings, even in his most vulnerable state.

And if he did, she simply would never forgive him, would she?

Raoul clenched his jaw, the answer leaving a bitter taste on his tongue as he remembered how she refused to leave with him tonight. Her beloved Angel of Music was a criminal, and yet she could not bring herself to loathe him no matter how much he reeked of sin. He thought it amusing that she even dared to claim that she held no romantic feelings for him, and yet she wanted to sing for him one last time tomorrow, as though taking her against her will deserved to be rewarded!

While she excused his crimes as an expression of love, why was it that she condemned Raoul’s rash actions when it was nowhere as repugnant as taking the life of another? She clearly favored that _thing_ more than him. He deserved more than scraps of attention, but ended up second best in the eyes of a dishonest woman. He, who was her childhood friend. He, who she claimed to be the person she loved. He, who was a de Chagny!

It was beyond humiliating.

Could it be that it was never about her being naïve and gullible, but had always been about how dense he was to blindly trust her narrative?

It was foolish of him to expect that she was still the same girl he met by the sea years ago when he himself was no longer familiar with the boy who rescued that scarf. Even Christine had already caught a glimpse of who he truly was but Christine needn’t know more. She still believed he was the charming prince who had his fine horses ready to save her from that beast.

And save her, he will.

He will set Christine free from the clutches of that devil, once and for all.

He will put him back in his cage.

He will be the hero in this story.

He looked up to his room’s french window, seeing to it that the drapes were not closed before he walked over to his wardrobe. Even though he could not see him, he had no doubts that Erik was already observing him through the glass door. It wouldn’t come as a surprise if he was already hiding within the four walls of his bedroom either.

Raoul was not stupid. He knew Erik considered him a threat to his bond with Christine. This pushed him to lurk in the shadows in order to gauge his opponent, and use his weakness against him.

If that pervert wanted to spy on Raoul, then let him. Let that gargoyle take a good look at the beauty that he would never be, and will never have. Let him realize that he could never live up to Raoul and that the younger man was, in every way, better than him. So much so that he was not and never will be worthy of any affection that Christine had so graciously given him.

Slowly, he started slipping off his evening attire. He discarded his tailcoat on the floor and proceeded to unfasten his vest adorned with gold and the most beautiful patterns. His hands lingered on his neck, recalling the incident at the opera house at the very same night of Christine’s triumph.

He blinked, pulled himself together, loosened the bow tie from his neck, and unclasped his suspenders. With trembling hands, he began to unbutton his dress shirt, heart thumping along with each button under his fingertips. After he got rid of his trousers, he took a deep breath and turned his back to the glass door before taking off the union suit from his body and becoming completely nude.

Raoul felt a shiver run down his spine once he was fully disrobed, feeling the intensity of his gaze trailing on his bare skin. He felt the blood rush to his cheeks at the sight of his cock already rigid and flushed just from the exhilarating thought of being watched by the man who claimed to love his fiancé.

He stood there and pretended to examine the clothes which were folded and hung inside despite already having decided that he would be wearing his undergarment for the evening, and nothing more.

Minutes later, he purposely bent down unclothed, and picked up the worn clothes off the floor, taking his sweet time gathering them one by one. Afterwards, he piled them on top of his other dirty clothes, making sure he stood at an angle where Erik would see just enough of him to leave him wanting for more.

Raoul finally went back to his wardrobe and pulled out a pair of drawers, and slipped into them at a leisurely pace. He would have usually worn a nightshirt, but thought it pointless to wear something so modest when one ought to tempt the devil.

If he were to be bold, he would have gone to bed naked, his blanket the only thing covering him up. But then, that would take out the fun out of his little game.

A light breeze brushed against his bare skin which made him abruptly turn around towards the balcony door. He gulped once he found it already slightly ajar.

As soon as he had collected himself, he slowly closed his wardrobe, and cautiously made his way to the glass door. He secured the lock and hurriedly drew the curtains. Taking a deep breath, he then turned around and hastily strode to his bed, the heat in his stomach growing with each step.

The hair on his neck stood under Erik’s piercing gaze while he laid down on his bed. He hesitated for a moment before he put out the candle by his bedside table.

He settled down on his side as soon as the room was engulfed with darkness, and did not bother to cover himself with the blanket for it would interfere with his movements, should Erik suddenly decide to be violent. Raoul felt his cock twitch at that thought alone, his arousal straining against his see-through drawers which barely covered anything. Besides, that would be far too cruel to prevent Erik from seeing what he had prepared for him.

He bit his lip as he caught a glimpse of Erik through his peripheral vision by the foot of his bed, eyes ablaze with resentment. He felt beads of sweat trickle down his neck, realizing that something was different just by the animosity he had towards Raoul tonight.

Erik must have eavesdropped on their conversation while they were on the rooftop. To make matters worse, Christine spoke of his ring which must have slipped from her finger while they both got lost in their passionate kiss. The young man had to fight a smug smile, knowing full well that their kiss had not only provoked him, but also made the woman he loved break her vow to keep something of his safe.

Raoul was quite impressed that this phantom still managed to maintain his distance even while his whole body trembled with bloodlust. He was even tempted to praise him, given how Christine had described him as a madman who had little self-control, and threw unpredictable fits of anger.

If only Raoul knew that Erik hovered over them like a shadow moments ago, then he would have kissed her with more urgency under Apollo’s Lyre, maybe even touch her where he knew Erik would never dare to. He would leave bruises on her neck and collarbone, maybe her shoulders as well. He would mark her so everyone—especially him—would know who rightfully owned her.

Perhaps Raoul would have fucked her there out in the open no matter how cold it was outside, with unsuspecting citizens strolling by down below. She would moan out his name, skirt bundled around her hips as she clung to him for dear life while his mouth explored her breasts. And then Raoul would lock his gaze at the familiar set of golden orbs—burning with the same envy as now—unmoving and transfixed on how the woman he loved wantonly grinded down on another man, uncertain whether he wanted to be the opera singer or the aristocrat who guided her deeper into him.

That would put him back in his place. Still, Raoul would be left unsatisfied. No doubt that it would have wounded that fiend, but not deep enough to please the boy. Even his engagement to Christine was insufficient. He wanted more than pathetic scratches. He wanted him bleeding. Scarred. He will unmask him body and soul, far worse than Christine ever did.

It was what he deserved anyways. Raoul had despised him ever since he had known of his existence the same night he was reunited with his childhood friend. He had only heard him through her dressing room door, and yet it was enough to fill his heart with contempt and envy. His soul thrived solely on never-ending jealousy until it got out of control.

He had chased them down like a lunatic, desperate for answers. He followed Christine no matter where she went, restless until he found out who this companion was. And was it only to dinner which the mysterious figure accompanied her? Perhaps he had escorted her even to the bedroom!

Admittedly, his behavior has been irrational towards the whole affair, but it was not his fault. It was that devil who had poisoned his mind to think so lowly of Christine—to think that she was a dishonest and improper woman.

He had suffered tremendously and was even accused of being less than a gentleman by no other than Christine. Raoul, a man from the upper class and not to mention, more well-educated than that freak would ever be! He had always been put on a pedestal, and found it outrageous to be disrespected in such a way.

He was not the one with shortcomings. It was the fiend who had influenced him. Yes, it was Erik who was ill-bred. That dark seducer had corrupted Christine, and now she was bound to him for all eternity. And even though she had swore her love to him alone, and had denied seeing Erik as anything more than a man she knew, he cannot bring himself to get rid of his doubts. He knew she would never be completely his.

How much grudgeful, bitter tears had Raoul shed because of them, he could no longer remember. They all had the gall to humiliate him and made him look like a fool!

They had made him a laughing stock in the city of Paris. He spoke of nothing but fairytales and phantoms, and people thought him to have lost his mind, including his brother. Those who once held him in high regard had probably lost respect for him. He could already imagine what they were saying behind his back—that poor de Chagny boy following that opera tart around like a pathetic dog!

He was a de Chagny, and to have Erik—the scum of the earth—as a rival was beyond him. He was lumped together with the lowest of the low! What did Christine see in Erik that Raoul didn’t possess? And what gave her the right to even think that he could ever compare to Raoul?

How dare she jerk him around as if he was some kind of toy? Christine thought she had him wrapped around her delicate finger. She could not be more wrong. A man from his standing would never spare her a second glance, yet he still did. Even so, she still had the nerve to busy herself with other men. What an ingrate!

If she truly loved him, she would care about how he felt, but she didn’t. She cared more for her poor, unhappy Erik!

Raoul gritted his teeth.

He was the one who was unhappy.

He felt for his gun under his pillow, and a sense of relief washed over him as soon as the cool metal touched his fingertips. He was grateful that it was still in the same place where he hid it a few nights ago.

Assured of being capable of protecting himself now that he was armed, a new-found courage washed over him to proceed with his own plan—to have the opera ghost completely ruined. Raoul will make him pay for all the agony he had caused him.

He did think of ending the charlatan’s life tonight once and for all, but that would have been far too easy. He must leave a bullet wound shallow enough to let him live, but deep enough to let him bleed and suffer for the rest of his life.

How it delighted Raoul to discover that Erik was the creature underneath his bed. It was the perfect opportunity. The fool thought that he was the predator, and the aristocrat the prey.

His effort to uncover his Achilles’ heel was truly admirable, though he wondered why he never used the ammunition if he ever did find it. Why was that? He refused to believe that the only reason was that he wanted to be in the good graces of the soprano. Furthermore, he had revealed himself to him, even just with those golden orbs of his. He wouldn’t have gained anything from it. If anything, he was at a disadvantage.

He must have known that Raoul could disclose the situation to Christine about the invasion of privacy, or had he anticipated that Raoul wouldn’t mention a word of it, too proud to appear as a coward in her eyes, and end up dealing with the matter himself?

He suspected that Erik _wanted_ to be seen and have his presence acknowledged by Raoul. Could it be that he was not after his rival’s vulnerability, but rather he wanted the boy to figure out what made _him_ helpless? A weakness which was too shameful for him to admit.

Erik wanted something more than his blood on his hands. Perhaps he wanted _Raoul_.

And why wouldn’t he? There was not a single soul who wasn’t enamored with him. Erik must have seen the resemblance between the two: the same golden hair and oceans of blue adorned with innocence—at least they appeared to be. 

Despite their similarities, he refused to believe that their likeness was the reason Erik was smitten with him.

His beauty was simply unrivaled. He took pride in using his charms to get his way, including those who were close to him. After all, it would truly be a waste not to use it—along with his wealth—to his advantage. It need not matter who it was, they would turn into mindless fools as soon as he flashed a smile their way. 

Erik was no exception.

To be desired by your enemy—the king of an underground palace—who hated every inch of your existence because you had stolen his chance at happiness, was twice as thrilling than marrying a woman from his childhood who was two classes beneath him. At least he could admit that to himself without any pretense.

And maybe aside from the peril that Erik brought with him, the young man still found him fascinating more so when he had done a fine, impressive job of bringing out the true colors of Raoul de Chagny. Masquerading as a well-mannered, respectable man was exhausting. But that would be the least of his worries knowing that he was about to face someone who was just as foul, if not worse than him.

If unmasking Raoul was what Erik wanted in the first place, then let the bastard be a spectator. 

Raoul will fill his head with nothing but the thoughts of him, and him alone.

He shall make Erik forget about Christine tonight, but Erik shall never forget his unfaithfulness for the rest of his life. Raoul fathomed that the monster ardently loved Christine to the point that to betray her in such a way would lead to his own ruin.

By tomorrow night, Erik would wallow in his own guilt while he watched Christine sing her heart out for him, knowing that he did not deserve it. 

By tomorrow night, Erik would beg on his knees for _him_ not to leave, and he would loathe himself for it. As soon as they depart Paris, Erik would lose _both_ Raoul and Christine, and most importantly, himself.

Erik was no longer Mephistopheles, nor there was a bargain to speak of when the odds favored Raoul who already had everything. Everything except for Erik.

But that would change tonight. Raoul wanted him, and he knew he could have him.

He will aim for his pitiful heart—if the monster even had any—and make him bleed without wasting as much as a bullet.

The vicomte only needed to cock the revolver, and let Erik pull the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear to fucking god this foreplay is too fucking long, i just want my horny men to get it on ASAP is that too much to ask??? raoul just please stOP THINKING AND JUST RAIL THAT SEWER GOBLIN!!!!!!
> 
> also, i promise that there will be some nasty action on my next update. 🤪 
> 
> but for now...please feel free to let me know what you think. 🥺 👉🏽👈🏽
> 
> thank you so much for reading! ✨


	3. feast your eyes. gorge your soul!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he needed to see him unmasked, and he would remain unsatisfied until met with the breathtaking sight of a once proud man reduced to nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, i'm finally back! the past two months have been seriously w a c k, and i was holding off writing this wip since it became a bit too overwhelming because of the length so guess what...i will cut the sexy times in two parts. meaning, there will be another chapter. 
> 
> also, i became a bit paralyzed regarding writing this as it was originally written in both raoul and erik's pov...but i was like...nah, i'm just going to stick to the book and let erik be shrouded in mystery lmao. for the next chapter, who knows...
> 
> lol dont mind the chapter title. my brain is fried thinking of anything. 😫
> 
> i have no idea how much i proofread this and the chapter had turned stale in my eyes, but i do hope you find it enjoyable at least! ♡

With a trembling hand, Raoul reached for the nearest pillow and positioned it between his legs, breath hitching as it pressed against his arousal. He had never been this sensitive prior to that evening, not even when he had touched himself at the thought of Christine.

Slowly, he moved himself against the pillow, whimpering while he pictured Erik in its place. Raoul had never seen him without a mask, however, it did not prevent him from wondering what he must have been doing in the shadows while his rival was fast asleep. And defenseless. 

He imagined Erik touching himself, breath turning ragged while he watched Raoul’s unconscious figure from a distance. He would attempt to be as quiet as possible, dreading that Raoul might wake to him, fingers around his hard, leaking cock at the mere sight of him. 

That heavenly voice of his would utter not two syllables, but one. His name would lie bitter on his tongue like poison, yet he would still whisper it under his breath, over and over in hatred, aching to know how Raoul's smooth, supple skin beneath the sheer material of his nightshirt would feel like under his fingertips as he chased his orgasm with every stroke.

Then, once the deed is done, he would stand there with flushed cheeks, mortified at the sight of his trembling hand painted with his own shame.

And what must he do when faced with the woman he claimed to love the next day? 

Too ashamed to admit what sin he had committed, he could only grovel at her feet and profess his love into the hem of her skirt which was already soaked with his own tears, even though he had promised that he would never speak of it unless she asked.

Still, he would return, convinced that his affections for Christine would prevail any moment of weakness. No more than Raoul's silhouette, unaware of his presence, and he would already falter, wanting no more than the vicomte’s beautiful, rosy lips around his cock instead of his own fingers. 

Perhaps at some point, he had used Raoul’s hand and guided it up and down on his shaft while the young man dreamt of Christine, and whenever he felt a little brave, he would rest his manhood on his lips, grazing it across while his precome glistened beautifully on top.

Barely conscious from his slumber, Raoul would have licked his mouth, almost touching the head of his shaft, unaware of the substance that was already resting on his tongue. Erik would have to hold himself back from thrusting himself inside his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Raoul whined at the thought, and bucked his hips against the pillow, the damp material of his drawers already clinging to his length. 

He knew from the beginning that he was to have him ever since he came to know of the voice through Christine’s dressing room door. There was no doubt that their encounter had filled his heart with jealousy, for she dedicated her song—and soul—to another man that was not him! 

And yet he had never encountered a voice as unearthly, as beautiful, as pure, and as seductive. At that moment, he wanted to strip the voice of its power until it was begging for mercy—for _him_. No one else shall ever hear him again. 

But Raoul was insatiable. His voice alone would not be enough. He needed to see him unmasked, and he would remain unsatisfied until met with the breathtaking sight of a once proud man reduced to nothing. 

Wasn’t that all the charlatan was worth? To be on his knees with that pathetic, horrendous face stained with tears which dripped from those two black sockets, completely at his mercy?

He bit into his blanket in an attempt to muffle his moans as he grew more desperate for friction, the rhythm of his thrusts increasing with every heartbeat. He pulled the pillow closer, wrapped his legs around it, and thrusted harder against its plush crevice while he recalled how Christine had described that—in her own words— _thing_. 

A man who seemed to have risen from the dead and personified all things foul—just like what Raoul had seen at Perros and at the masked ball. Four black holes, smouldering eyes seen only in the darkest night, and lips which barely existed.

Though he supposed that Erik’s mouth could still serve its intended purpose no matter what it lacked.

Raoul groaned and paused for a brief moment. He had only ever seen his eyes but picturing him unmasked made his cock twitch in anticipation. Every living soul worshipped him, that much was true, but just imagine if they were a breathing, living corpse!

He dug his fingers into the silk pillowcase, lips curling into a wicked smile at the thought of how heart-wrenching it must be for the charlatan to hear Christine—his _angel_ —utter such cruel words about him. 

The fool thought Christine to be different! He had sincerely hoped she was capable of loving him despite his face. He should have known better than to trust a stage actress. 

Though he did indulge in Erik’s misery, he would much prefer to be the cause of it. Imagine his delight once he shifted his position where he now lied on his back, finally meeting his helpless gaze. Erik's eyes flickered in alarm as soon as his presence was acknowledged. However, instead of stopping, Raoul smirked as he slowly spread his legs apart, allowing him to catch a glimpse of how straining he already was against the sheer material of his undergarment.

He slipped his fingers between his lips and moistened each one with his saliva, shivering at how Erik was intensely following his every movement. Slowly, he pulled his fingers from his mouth and swirled his tongue around them, breath hot against the cold, coated skin, suckling on each one until he was certain that the noises he made reached the intruder’s ears. 

Those golden pools filled with confusion met with his once again, the internal battle evident in them. While his other hand still grasped the coolness of the revolver under his pillow, Raoul trailed the fingers of his free hand down to his nipple, gasping as soon as the wet skin of his fingers pressed against it. He arched his back, impatient at the lack of stimulation, needing more. Wanting more. He bit his lip, unsure whether he would risk abandoning his firearm to satisfy his greed. 

Considering Erik had barely moved an inch given the opportunity he already had, Raoul would assume that the purpose of his visit had already been forgotten.

He caressed the metal one last time before his fingers finally left it and immediately disappeared in his mouth, filling it with the lingering taste of metal.

His thumb and forefinger reached his nipple, pinching and pulling, while he jolted at the delicious sensation that coursed through his body, never breaking eye contact with the demon who greedily took in the sight in front of him. He raked his fingers across them, groaning at how sore they were becoming, and bucked his hips, only to be disappointed that it was met with nothing but darkness.

His cold hands immediately pressed against the soaked drawers, tending to where he needed the most attention. He closed his eyes, and groaned while he continued to palm himself through the cotton, teeth sinking into his bottom lip until it bled and the blood reached his tongue. His eyes fluttered open at the taste of it, and was greeted by how ravenous Erik’s eyes had become, reluctance completely melted away.

How he wished Christine was here to witness the pathetic look on this man’s face, practically begging for him without uttering a single word.

He wanted to see the look of betrayal on her face, and perhaps the jealousy in her eyes. Let her stand in his shoes and learn what kind of pain he had gone through for her—how he felt when she was fooling around with this monster, and how he still chose to love her despite everything. But of course, at a price which Erik would pay for. 

And Christine still believed that Erik held a love so grand that he was willing to commit any crime for her? Utter nonsense. If he was so intent on killing him, then he would have done so without a second thought, and not even at the mere sight of Raoul’s bare skin and contented sighs would change his mind.

Furthermore, Raoul, too, was ready to risk anything for her. Had he not given his title, and everything that came with it, in the name of their love? Was he not risking his life tonight _for her sake_? 

Heart angrily pounding in his ears, he spit on his hand, slipped it under his drawers, and wrapped it around his warm shaft, moaning at how it throbbed needily against his own touch. He began to stroke himself at a leisurely pace, careful not to let Erik see him just yet—let him beg for it. He thrusted into his own hand, legs trembling as soon as he smeared his own precome and saliva on the head using his thumb.

Using the same finger, he withdrew his hand from his cock and wiped the blood off his wounded lips, and licked it clean.

Poor thing could not look away from a truly captivating sight—from how his cheeks were painted crimson to how his mouth opened in ecstasy to allow the most sinful of sounds.

He was even more entrancing than Christine who unfolded her wings as Juliette at Palais Garnier, was he not? He may not have the same inclination to music as his fiancé did nor did he understand the depth of the arts, yet the hell-spawned demon was still bewitched with him nonetheless.

While Christine embodied the voice and innocence of a seraph, Raoul was a tempter—sinful and vulgar, yet no one as beautiful and mesmerizing. 

Every sigh of his was addicting. Every movement titillating. He wanted every inch of his existence—his face, his smell, his sighs of pleasure—to suffocate the creature lurking in the darkness, knowing that he would still end up choosing to drown rather than to distance himself.

His rival's entire being will burn enough for his knees to give in, seeking support from the bed frame, hissing at the slightest brush of his arousal against it. He would find it much harder to breathe the longer he stayed where the air laid thick and heavy on his shoulders, along with the hatred, the anger, and the guilt.

Perhaps the thought of his own demise would cross his mind. Wouldn't it be much more preferable to die than to let his shame bleed and course through his entire body with no ounce of dignity left? 

His blood should be the only thing he was after—to see him struggling at the mercy of his noose until his lifeless eyes stared into nothingness. 

Yet he also wanted him alive, warm and resigned underneath his touch.

He would slowly grind against the wooden frame at the thought, picturing that it was Raoul's erection pressed against him. And though it was all too much, he would not dare look away, wanting to witness the boy's every stroke while he matched his own ragged breathing to his subdued moans in order to mask his own humiliation.

“Ah!” Raoul snapped out of his thoughts with a moan, hearing unfamiliar sighs starting to intertwine with his. The sheet beneath him gathered between his fingers while he slid his hand up and down his throbbing length, desperate, growing even harder at the lustful glint in Erik's eyes.

Raoul began to feel lightheaded as he increased his pace. He needed more than his ghostly whispers. He wanted to hear his name, voice doused in impatience, pleading to see more of him even though there was no more than a layer of clothing to be discarded.

And what would Erik do when he finally sees Raoul’s hard, flushed cock resting on his stomach? He whined at the endless scenarios running through his head. The hand that clutched the fabric beneath him had already disappeared into his mouth—sucking, biting at the skin—imagining that it was Erik's penis pressing against his tongue.

He closed his eyes, and lifted his hips, the warmth in his abdomen starting to burn as he began eagerly thrusting into his own hand. 

He needed him. He wanted him.

But Raoul wasn't done. He refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that just yet, which was why even though his mind was filled with the thoughts of Erik and only him alone, he breathed out the name of the one whom both of them loved, yet seemed to be the last person who occupied their thoughts that evening. 

“Christine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bro...raoul really jacked off to his own fanfiction in his head...r e s p e c t.
> 
> thank you so much for reading and you're also free to scream at me in the comments sakjndksjdn.
> 
> what do you think will happen next? 👀


	4. the poisoned chalice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the monster had sacrificed nothing for her—only the lives of others. he offered the hearts of those who he had killed for he did not have any.
> 
> if anything, raoul was the noble one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo i miscalculated. y'all knew this was coming. i decided to divide the last chapter into two again but i swear this is the last addition 🤣. it makes things easier for me bc i only have one braincell. hey but atleast...something is already happening here...perhaps. maybe. scroll down to find out. ;)
> 
> i hope you enjoy! 🥺👉🏽👈🏽

Raoul immediately found himself at the mercy of Erik's lasso and his angry, piercing, yellow eyes which burned into his as he continued to roughly tug on his cock. He could not help but arch his back in pleasure while the silhouette tightened the rope around his neck until his fingers brushed against his skin. He shuddered and came undone at that moment, spilling his seed on his own stomach. With a sigh, his body went limp in the arms of the devil himself, who hovered over him, completely stunned at what he just witnessed.

"Look at this mess.” Raoul let out an exhausted laugh as he kept his fingers busy with his semen, quite satisfied at how transfixed Erik seemed to be with his hand and the head of his flaccid cock slightly protruding from his undergarment. He neared his drenched hand, just barely an inch away from the other’s lips.

“Won't you," he gasped, pausing for a brief moment while his thighs quivered, "clean that for me?"

Erik's mouth had gone dry at the sight of it trickling down the boy's fingers, which impatiently waited for him. Before he allowed himself to lean in, he tilted his head to clear his nose—or lack thereof—of the smell of his need. Still, his senses felt like they were still drowning.

"Go to hell, Chagny." He silently cursed the betrayal in his voice. 

"Shall you be my escort?" Raoul purred. He then withdrew his hand, and sighed at the aftertaste as he licked his fingers clean. It did not take long for him to cry out once Erik's hands had wrapped themselves around his throat, rope sinking deeper into the viscount's neck as though his weapon was not sufficient enough to do the deed. Those eyes of him, much like a cat's, glowered while his nails scraped his skin until it bled. The boy, on the other hand, desperately clawed at the hand, a futile effort to pry his hand away for some air. 

"You will arrive there before I do, I assure you," he hissed.

Admittedly, being at such close proximity was quite distracting—from Raoul's intoxicating smell to how his cool sweat-drenched skin felt under his fingertips. He dared not think about how those fingers wrapped around his cock not too long ago were now touching _him_ , leaving a trail of saliva on the back of his hand, nor did he want to think about how the sight of Raoul gasping for air reminded him of his beautiful, rosy lips parting to let out the most shameless of sounds.

He shouldn't but it seemed it was all he could dwell on. Raoul saw it as an opportunity to retaliate, and immediately let his fingers graze the front of Erik's trousers, humming in satisfaction as he discovered that he was just as aroused. With a hoarse voice, he said, “and...what else would you do to me?" 

Before Erik could recoil and distance himself, Raoul, with his remaining strength, took hold of his coat and pulled him down to roughly press his mouth against his. He did not waste a breath to slip his tongue between the other's lips where he forced him to taste how much he was needed.

Erik was soon on his knees on the carpeted floor, head spinning as he knowingly drank in his rival's poison. He clutched the sheets of the bed as he leaned in further, lips quivering at the thought of someone kissing him at their own will. Even his own mother had not been so kind to grant him one!

Yet the boy he despised for stealing Christine away, and whom he thought felt the same way about him, continued to move his lips against his. Erik could only respond with a whimper while his head reeled with the sensation of the other's moist and soft lips.

It was intense. It was greedy. It was selfish.

But if it was passionate enough for him to mistake it for love, was it terribly wrong to pretend it was such?

Raoul’s fingers trailed from his coat up to the edge of his mask which finally brought Erik to his senses. He immediately tore himself away from him, falling back on the floor while he attempted to rid of the traces of the boy from his lips with the back of his hand.

"You disgust me," he breathed out shakily.

“Disgust?” Raoul asked with a chuckle while he busied himself with the rope dangling from his neck in fascination. “Monsieur, you are not quite as convincing as Christine described you to be.” 

“Don't you dare utter her name," Erik spat, unable to do anything while he watched him untangle himself from the rope, as though he had been poisoned by the kiss which now slowly coursed through his veins, killing him one heartbeat at a time. "You have soiled it enough in your...distasteful pastimes."

“And why not? She is to be my wife soon, and she will let me have my way with her.” Raoul picked up the box of matches on his bedside table, struck a piece on its side, and pressed the flame against the wick of the candle, chasing away the darkness, but this time the devil stayed even in its absence. He licked his lip as he trailed his eyes from his hat down to his leather boots, carefully taking in the sight of his rival, whose black mask complemented his formal evening wear, along with his black cape which bundled around him on the floor. He was dressed too well for murder, if that was his purpose in the first place. No matter, those layers of clothing will soon be discarded, including the mask which he donned proudly.

"Perhaps you would rather have me call out your name while I touched myself... _Erik?_ ”

The match fell onto the floor, extinguishing itself from the collision, as Erik pushed him back on the bed, the small blade of his knife pressing against his neck. No matter how much truth Raoul’s words held, he hid it with a scowl. His gaze wavered like the flames of the candle on the boy's nightstand.

"My, my, is this how you show your gratitude?" With a devilish grin spreading across his face, he pointed out, "don't you think it's what I deserve for choosing not to report these... _incidents_ to the police?" 

He winced at the blade pressing harder against his skin.

“The only thing you deserve is death."

"Is that so?" Raoul mused while his hands explored his trousers from his knees up to his thighs. "Are you certain that that is what you truly intend to do to me?"

“You’ve quite the humor. What else would you be good for? You have a pretty face, but not much else,” the other snarled in response. Meanwhile, the young man's brows furrowed in anger and palmed him through his trousers causing Erik to become flustered, enough for Raoul to switch their positions and pin him face down on the bed.

“Let go of me!” Raoul ignored his protests and proceeded to bind his wrist together behind his back with the rope. 

“I am hardly holding you down, monsieur,” he said, then leaned down until his breath was hot against his ear. “I must say, you seem quite comfortable to be in this position.”

Erik could easily break free from his hold if he really wished to. He knew it, and so did the boy. How could he not allow him to do as he pleased when the viscount's arousal was pressing against his back, and all he could think about was how much better it would be if it was resting on his tongue? 

Raoul pushed his head further into the damp pillow. The man under him had to suppress a moan the moment he realized that it had been the one he used to pleasure himself with. 

“I am warning you," came his muffled voice. He writhed underneath him and tilted his head to the left once the smell of the boy’s perspiration and need began to make his head spin. His voice now boomed in clarity, "unbound me this instant, you stupid boy!”

“Monsieur, I truly do not appreciate how you speak to me. Had I not been generous enough to put on a show for you?” Raoul frowned, tracing the edges of the mask with his finger, eager to see what was beyond the veil. 

“Fuck you!”

“Such a filthy mouth.” Raoul roughly grabbed his chin with his left hand and clicked his tongue, pressing his thumb against the left corner of Erik’s lips, or if he could even call it as such for it barely existed and felt quite strange to the touch. He then roughly moved it along his bottom lip until it rested on the opposite side, now coated with cool saliva. “But not to worry, I am capable of making it much dirtier.”

“You are simply too full of yourself, Chagny,” Erik scowled at him. 

“How can I not when there is no doubt that you want me?” Raoul said as he pressed his body against his while his hand found its way between the mattress and Erik’s trousers, pressing against the outline of the man's hard cock. The corners of his mouth twisted up into one of delight. 

“What are you do—ah!” Erik had to resist from bucking his hips against his hand.

“You’re hard for _me_ , and yet you _dare_ say that you love her? You're undeserving of her.”

“My affections...for her,” he suppressed a moan by biting the inside of his cheek until his mouth tasted of metal, “are not...as weak as yours.”

Raoul laughed in amusement. How was his love for Christine frail considering the things he was willing to sacrifice to get rid of the man who had done her wrong? The monster had sacrificed _nothing_ for her—only the lives of others. He offered the hearts of those who he had killed for he did not have any.

If anything, Raoul was the noble one. 

“Your body seems to say otherwise,” he unfastened his trousers and slipped his hand inside, humming in satisfaction as soon as he felt the damp material of his undergarment. Erik jolted underneath him as he took his warm cock in his hand. The viscount chuckled. “You respond to my touch quite honestly, do you not?"

Erik cursed under his breath as he throbbed against the boy’s hand. “Don't...flatter yourself. It doesn’t...ah...mean a damn.”

“I think that it means that you don’t want me to stop,” he purred while he slowly nibbled on his ear. 

“You’re delusional!” Erik moved his head away, and tried to ignore the cool sensation on his ear.

“Admit it, Erik,” he murmured into his skin, trailing kisses on the side of his face near his ear and down to his jawline, just the skin where the edge of the mask had not covered. "You want me more than you do her. You know I am able to give you what you want.”

“You could never compare to her,” he gasped as soon as the man behind him roughly tugged at his shaft. 

Erik whined when his movements halted. Raoul, irritated, had pressed his lips together, and quickly positioned the other on his back. He leaned his face closer to his as he straddled him.

“It is _she_ who could never compare to me,” he quickly corrected him. Too flustered by the way Raoul’s arousal was pressing against his, he had not noticed that the young man had already reached around him to remove the rope which bound his wrists together. 

“Would she allow you to touch her like this?” 

Raoul took his hands, placing them just below his neck and guided them down to his chest. Erik should have resisted for he knew his hands only belonged around the boy’s neck, but his thoughts were only occupied with Raoul‘s warmth—to how much of him was alive. He was alive and he was permitting a corpse to touch him!

“Have you touched yourself while I was unconscious?” Raoul moaned, pressing his cold fingers against his chest, drinking in the cold sensation as he moved them upwards and then down. 

”You must think me mad,” Erik stuttered, too consumed with the sight in front of him. With the _feel_ of him.

“Hm? You’ve only watched me and nothing more?” the other smirked. He brought his hands to his mouth and sucked each finger until they were drenched with saliva. He whined as soon as he pressed his wet and cool fingers on his hard nipple and continued to play with it, while his other hand was still in his mouth.

“That is truly—ngh fuck— _considerate_ of you. Though I would have preferred it if you did much, much more,” he hummed, saliva trickling down the side of his mouth as he spoke, mouth full with Erik’s fingers.

Finally, he brought his hand down from his mouth and stopped just above the unfastened buttons of his drawers.

“Won’t you defile me just as you did her?” 

Erik was appalled at the mere suggestion of him laying so much as a finger on Christine. “Don’t lump me together with your kind.” 

“My kind?” he sneered, “come now, monsieur, no use pretending to be so virtuous.”

He moaned as he finally slipped both of their hands inside his drawers before Erik could say anything.

“Won’t you show me what unspeakable things you’ve done to _my_ fiancé?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew.
> 
> erik c'mon give the horny boy what he wants. 😤
> 
> seems like raoul has some sort of death wish with how fucking obnoxious he is being. maybe to die from erik's monster cock? perhaps, perhaps.
> 
> also, fun fact:  
> originally, when erik curses him (fuck you!), raoul responds with "i would love that. and i believe you would as well." 🤣 just thought i'd mention it because it makes me laugh lmao.
> 
> anyways, now that this is posted, i can work peacefully on the next chapter without obsessing over this part lmaaao.
> 
> thank you so much as always and your thoughts are always welcome in the comments section. ♡


End file.
